London's Calling
by Budding Authoress
Summary: Elizabeth the Hell-hound returns! In this sequel to "Heir of the hound of the Baskervilles", Elizabeth finds herself in the wilds of England with only one way to get home...Her own four paws.
1. To the Source

To the source A/N: Sorry It's been so long, but I've been busy working on another fic. Anyway, due to the enjoyment people had with my first fic, I'm putting up Elizabeth's second adventure. Hope you enjoy it!  
I must begin this story by saying I am not, like Dr. Watson, a recorder of all information involving Sherlock Holmes' cases. So, I knew only what I saw and was told. But I have read the same case as it was seen through Dr. Watson's eyes (it's not in print, but it's called The Adventure of the black box), so I'll give you a brief explanation of the parts of the story I was absent for.  
Apparently, Mr. Holmes was contacted by a lady while Dr. Watson was giving me my exercise. This lady (I think her name was Miss Bennett) had a father who had been murdered the night before, and his chest of valuables had been stolen. Miss Bennett wished us to assist in finding the murderer and the valuables, judging the police to be too incompetent. This is where I came in.  
Mr. Holmes took me to a house and asked me to smell a bloody knife. I caught two scents, one smelled of grass and the other of money. I smelled the money scent all over the house, so I knew that the person who had that scent must have lived in this house. So I turned my attention to the second scent. I followed it outside.losing it quickly. The person must have gotten into a cab. But I was undaunted, though Dr. Watson gave up hope when he saw I'd lost the scent. But I surprised him by nearly pulling his arm off as I went dashing up the road. I knew where the cabs were kept when off duty, and I was sure that I could trace the scent. I remember Holmes running after us and laughing. "You see, Watson, I told you that Elizabeth wouldn't let us down!" Encouraged by these words of praise, I quickened my pace and did not slacken off until I reached the cab stand. I jumped into each cab, gave it a sniff, and jumped out again. I went through about five cabs in this fashion until I came upon the scent again. I barked with pleasure, and Holmes ran up to the cabman.  
"Did you pick up a man near Bennett estate?" Holmes asked.  
"Why, yes, sir." Said the cabman, a little perturbed at the fact that there was a retriever sniffing around in his cab, "He was tall, with a pale face and blonde hair. He told me he needed to get to the station and to hurry, because he needed to catch the 11:00 train to Cardiff!"  
"A-ha!" Cried Holmes. "Sir, I'll give you three guineas if you get me to that same station."  
"For three guineas, I'll fly there!" Said the cabman, graciously letting Watson in.  
And we did indeed fly there, because I could swear that the wheels never touched the ground. But anyway we made it there, and Holmes paid off the cabman and bought tickets to take us to Cardiff. As we traveled there, Holmes let us in on his theory.  
"According to the description the Cabman gave us, along with the observations I made (I confess I do not know what exactly these were), I have deduced that our murderer is a young man, who also happens to be Miss Bennett's brother."  
"Good lord!" Cried Watson, "How on Earth could you possibly think that?"  
"Three things make me believe so. One, Miss Bennett told me that she had an estranged brother who lived somewhere in Wales. Two, Miss Bennett also said that her father had not left her brother anything in his will, and three, Miss Bennett is blonde, tall, and pale, as is the man that the cabman picked up."  
"So," Watson said slowly, "This brother of hers somehow heard that his father had not left him anything in his will, and became so angry that he came to London and murdered him. Then he took some valuables and ran for it."  
"Precisely, Watson!" Said Holmes delightedly. However, I was not quite so glad. Although I could now understand the motive for the murder, I wished I could have had all the information too, so that I could figure it out myself. I hated it when Holmes kept information to himself. 


	2. Bad Luck

Bad luck  
When the train finally pulled up in Cardiff Station, I immediately attempted to pick up the scent. It was difficult, as many people had passed that way, but I finally found it and I was off again, straining at my leash and panting with the effort. The man must have been nervous, because he did not get into a cab, but appeared to have sprinted away from the scene. I was getting more and more excited. Holmes noticed and let go of the leash. I was off like a shot. Now that I was not constricted, I flew down streets and through grass. I'm going to find him, I thought, the scent's getting stronger. I set up a loud baying. Behind me, I heard Holmes shout, "She's got him! We're almost there!" The scent finally reached full power at a small house on the outskirts of town. I ran up to the door, scratching at it and barking.  
The door flew open, and there was a tall, blonde, handsome man looking down at me. I growled low in my throat. If what Holmes said was true (and it probably was) this man was a murderer, no matter how nice he looked. The man must have seen Holmes and Watson closing in on him, because he bolted, knocking me down. I got up immediately and ran after him. He ran out of Cardiff and into the countryside, with the three of us in close pursuit. I was tiring, and I knew that Holmes and Watson must be tiring too. I knew I needed to slow him down somehow. I stopped briefly for a moment, threw back my head, and howled. The ghostly cry I had inherited from my father flowed out of my mouth.  
On the whole, the trick succeeded. The man stopped in his tracks, and I quickly caught up to him. But just as I reached him, he shook the howl from his mind and began to run again. So I leapt at him, catching the sleeve of his shirt in my teeth and pulling him down. He rolled and writhed, trying to shake me off, but I refused to let go. I saw Holmes sprinting towards us, but I didn't know if he'd make it in time. Even at that moment I could feel my teeth loosening from the man's sleeve. I had to do something! I removed my teeth from his sleeve.and sunk it into his arm instead.  
He let out a scream of agony. I forced myself not to think of the fact that the liquid flowing in my mouth was blood, or that the solid I was connecting with was his bone. I instead looked down, and found to my horror that we were at the edge of a very large cliff. But as I looked down, there was a sharp crack on my head. I lost consciousness..and fell down the cliff. 


	3. The Plan

The plan  
When I came to, the sun was setting. My head ached slightly, and I wasn't quite sure why. I tried to stand up, but fell back, whining with pain. Apparently one of my legs was hurt. It was then that it sunk into me. I'd just fallen down a cliff after being hit on the head by a murderer, and yet here I was, alive and almost well. I pondered it for a moment. I must have fallen onto a ledge, I thought, otherwise I'd be dead. Suddenly, I remembered something else. Holmes was almost upon me and the murderer. He must have seen me fall. Why aren't I with him, being patched up? Have they left me for dead? Did he try to get to me, but couldn't manage it? Will he come back in the morning? Or.  
My reasoning kicked in just then. Or, could it be that I've bounced off one ledge and landed on another, and the ledge obscured Holmes' vision? I looked up to see rock. Yes, I decided, that's exactly what happened. Holmes has not left me for dead, he saw me fall and thinks I've been dashed to pieces. I groaned softly. I need to get out of here, I thought. I tried to stand up again, and failed. I turned and look at my left back leg. It was swollen, which told me that my ankle was twisted. It didn't seem to be bleeding. Good, I thought, No bleeding means I won't die of blood loss. But I'd best get off this rock. So I stood up slowly and carefully, trying not to put weight on my hurt leg. I looked down, and saw to my relief that there were other, smaller ledges below me. I slid off and landed on the first ledge. I performed this exercise several times before I finally touched the ground.  
I limped slowly away from the cliff, wincing every time my injured leg hit the ground. I decided that I needed something to drink. As luck would have it, a small stream was nearby. I managed to limp to it, and then I put my face in the water and swallowed water until I thought I would be sick. Then I gently put my injured leg into the water. The coolness of the liquid soothed me, and I actually dozed off. But I awoke with a start when a gust of wind sprang up. Night had fallen. I quickly pulled my leg out of the stream and limped as fast as I could, following the stream north. Maybe I can find my way to Cardiff, and to a station, I thought. Then I'll try to sneak on a train to London. I'm sure Holmes would go back there, now that he thinks me dead and now that he's got his man.  
But it wasn't quite as easy as I'd hoped. It wound up taking me three days to reach Cardiff, with frequent stops along the way to dip my leg in the stream. When I got there, I caught a glimpse of my reflection in the stream, and realized just how bad I looked. My golden fur was mussed and dirty, my eyes were clouded and dull, and my leg was puffy and very ugly (My head, fortunately, had no mark from where the man had hit it). I was horrified. When I do get back to London, Holmes might not even recognize me, I thought. I found a station, and determined, by looking at a map, that London was to the north. But when I tried to get onto a train, I was thrown out almost immediately by the conductor.  
"Out, you mutt!" He yelled at me, "This isn't a house!"  
I wanted to bite him, but that probably would have meant more trouble. So I ran off and hid in the shadows, pondering. If I can't get onto a train, there's only one other thing I can think to do. I knew my plan would cause a lot of pain, but I knew it would get me there. As the train pulled out of the station, I got off the platform and followed the tracks north. For the first time since my fall, I felt happy. I was heading home. London was calling me towards it. 


	4. A day of events

A day of events  
Unfortunately, walking to London takes a lot longer than it does taking a train there. But I knew I could do it. I kept a steady speech running through my head, which motivated me to move as fast as I could. The speech said: I am a survivor. I am strong. My mother was a golden retriever who brought ducks back to my first master and made sure we exercised. My father was a hell-hound who was muscular and tough. I have inherited those traits. I have been able to run for miles after a man, and survived falling off a cliff. Walking with an injured leg to get back to the home I love will be difficult, but if I can do those things, I can do anything.  
Despite the speech and my determination, I still had a difficult time. I had to dive out of the way every time I saw or heard a train coming, which happened almost every hour. I had to stop every time I saw a lake so I could have a drink and soak my leg. On top of that, I had nothing to eat, and I always went to sleep on an empty stomach. My hours on the track varied, as I would walk until night fell and I reached a station. It could be midnight when I found a station, or it could be dusk when I found something. In the morning, I would see what station I was at, figure out how much farther I had to go, and I'd be off again.  
It was around my tenth day on the road when three important things happened to me. The first was an old Times newspaper that I came upon in the morning. I wanted a break in my monotony, so I pawed through it, looking for an interesting article. When I saw the second leading article, my blood froze and I read that article as quickly as I could.  
Sherlock Holmes catches Crook, but sustains double loss.  
The legendary Sherlock Holmes, who has been invaluably helpful to the London police many times before, has finally left a case unfinished. Two  
weeks ago, the police were called in to find the murderer of Sir Arthur Bennett. The murderer also took a black box full of valuables that had been  
in Sir Bennett's safe.  
Sir Arthur's daughter, Nancy Bennett, not only contacted the police,  
but also Mr. Sherlock Holmes. "I believed that Mr. Holmes, with his  
brilliant powers of deduction, would be able to find the murderer much faster than the Police." She told reporters. A day after taking the case,  
Holmes returned to London with the murderer. It turned out to be Jack Bennett, son of Sir Arthur. Mr. Bennett had murdered his father because he  
had heard that he was not to be left anything in his father's will.  
But though the criminal has been found, the valuables have not been recovered. Though police have searched Mr. Bennett's house thoroughly, no trace of the objects has been found. "It's very baffling," Said Inspector  
Lestrade, "We've questioned Mr. Bennett, but he won't say a thing."  
Meanwhile, Holmes' ego must be bruised somewhat, as the rapid find of the criminal was credited, not to Mr. Holmes, but to his dog, Elizabeth. Holmes' partner, Dr. Watson, explained the reason. "She found the scent of the man, followed it, chased the man for five miles, and then held him down  
until Holmes' could get to him."  
Unfortunately, Elizabeth fell off a cliff as she held Mr. Bennett  
down, and is now dead. Holmes now offers ten pounds to anyone who can  
provide him with a new dog.  
I wanted to scream. Holmes was looking for a new dog already? Didn't he feel any remorse for my loss? No, I decided angrily, he might have an ego but he has no emotions. That settled it for me. I was going to quicken my pace and get to London faster, so that I could give Holmes a piece of my mind. I leapt up and started my journey, walking faster than ever, the newspaper article clutched tightly in my mouth.  
The second thing that happened occurred around noon. I was passing by a lake and stopped as usual to quench my thirst. But as I was dipping my leg in the water, I heard a muted thud. Something had to be down there. I dipped my head down and had a look. It was a small black chest. My heart leapt. I quickly looked at the article again "The murderer also took a black box full of valuables." I grabbed the hook that served as the handle of the box in my teeth and hauled as hard as I could. For a box full of valuables it was surprisingly light, and it came up rather easily. I laid it on the ground and nudged it open. I was stunned at its contents. It was empty. Did Mr. Bennett hide the valuables somewhere else? I mused, or was Sir Bennett absentminded and didn't put anything in here? Or, I thought, realization sweeping over me, did Sir Bennett think something like this would happen? Did he hide his valuables in the box in a hidden pocket? I had to find out.  
I sniffed all around it, prodding, poking, the whole thing. Finally, I found it. A hard nudge at the back right corner opened the black covering to reveal the objects underneath. One glance told me why they were valuables. There was a watch, a diamond necklace, several old coins, and a beautiful ruby. I gazed at the treasure with wonder for a minute. Then reality stepped in. I needed to get this back to Miss Bennett. But how to carry it? I glanced around, and my eye fell upon the tattered remains of my leash, which Holmes had released so that I could run better. Perfect.  
I wriggled my collar off, bit off the leash, and slipped the loop of the leash onto the small hook. Then I put the paper in the box, took the other end in my mouth and began to drag the treasure towards home.  
But the third thing occurred in the evening. The sun was setting, and I began to look for a station. As I did so, I realized that I didn't know where I was. I'd been so mad about the article that I'd failed to check the map to see where I was. Brilliant, I thought, now I'm lost, I'm hurt, and I'm dragging at least 1,000 pounds worth of valuables along a railroad track. I couldn't take it anymore. Everything that had happened to me ever since I'd caught Mr. Bennett boiled up inside me, and I dropped my leash and let out a long, despairing howl. I was so tired and miserable that I wanted to throw myself in front of the next train. And as if my howl was magical, the lights of a station glimmered faintly about ten feet away. I knew it would do me no good to kill myself, so I grudgingly picked up the leash and dragged myself to the station.  
I got into the station and immediately went to the map. I took a quick look.and I dropped my leash in shock. I was in London. I'd made it home. 


	5. Home at last

Home at last  
I now had to think for a few minutes about my course of action. I could either go straight home, or I could sleep here and then head out in the morning. I decided that I would stay here, because I was exhausted. So I curled up in a shadowy place, keeping the box securely in my front paws, and fell into a peaceful sleep.  
I woke up in the morning fresher and feeling better than ever. I was ready to go home. Unfortunately, I wasn't entirely sure how to get there. I had always ridden with my head on Holmes' knee, listening to him and ignoring the countryside. Now, I regretted ever doing so. I was about to howl with frustration again when I caught sight of a cab coming into the station. Of course! I thought, it's easy! All I need to do is follow that cab to its post. I know the way to home from there!  
I crawled out of my hiding spot and headed towards the cab, still dragging the box behind me. As I got there, I heard the passenger say to the driver, "I will be back at five. If you will be here for me, I'll give you a sovereign."  
"Yes, sir!" Said the driver happily. This short conversation gave me the chance to clamber aboard the back of the cab and haul up the box. I had decided that it would be easier to ride than to walk, as I'd been doing enough of that. The man left, the driver clucked to his horses, and we were off at a slow trot. I didn't mind. I wanted a nice rest before I walked some more. But to my horror, we passed right by the cab post. Evidently the driver was giving the horses a little exercise. I would have jumped, but I was afraid that I would hurt my leg even more. I closed my eyes in despair.  
"Oh, sir, please wait! Would you give me a ride to 221 B Baker Street?"  
My eyes snapped open. I evidently had fallen asleep. But that didn't matter. 221 B Baker Street? Why, that was Holmes' address! This lady, or whoever it was, was going to make life easier for me!  
"Why, certainly, miss. Climb aboard."  
I took a quick glimpse at the woman. My eyes widened. It was Miss Bennett. I looked out at the landscape. There was the Bennett Estate. My Gosh, I realized, she must be going to see if there's been any word on the treasure. And it'll be right behind her. This situation was so funny that I laughed softly all the way to Baker Street.  
***  
When the cab stopped at Baker Street, I hopped down immediately and took up position under the window. Miss Bennett got out, paid off the driver, and went to the door without even noticing the bedraggled mutt on the street. Good, I thought, It's better this way. I want Holmes to be the first one to know I'm back.  
I waited for a few minutes, until I was sure that Miss Bennett was up there. Then I let out such a racket of barking and yapping that the other houses opened windows and yelled at me to shut up. Finally, Holmes' window opened, and Watson poked his head out.  
"Shut up, you mutt!" he roared, and threw something at me. I glared at him indignantly. He obviously couldn't recognize me. It was time to show who I really was. I threw back my head and howled the Baskerville howl. Watson, who was about to pull his head back in, stopped and stared at me in amazement. Then he pulled his head back in. "Holmes!" He cried to the other unseen occupants, "It's Elizabeth! She's right outside!"  
There was the scrape of a chair, and then Holmes' face appeared at the window. I looked at him right in the eye defiantly. My look told him that I knew that he'd been looking for another dog, and that I wasn't going to forget it for a long time. Holmes pulled his head back in, and a few minutes later the door opened, and out came Mrs. Hudson, Holmes' housekeeper. She looked at me with misty eyes.  
"Oh, poor dear." She said to me. "Look at what's happened to you. Come on, let's get you upstairs."  
I didn't wait for any more. I grabbed the hook of the box and went upstairs as fast as I could. I burst into the sitting room, where Holmes, Watson, and Miss Bennett were, and I dropped the box at Miss Bennett's feet and collapsed on the floor. Miss Bennett looked at me for an instant, and then her eyes flew to the box. She let out a small gasp.  
"Father's valuables! She found them!"  
She grabbed the box and opened it. The paper fluttered out, but she ignored it. She pushed the side to unlock the secret compartment, and pulled out all the treasures one by one. "They're all here! Thank the Lord!" It was then that she turned her attention to me. She knelt on her knees and put her arms around my neck.  
"Thank you, Elizabeth. Thank you for saving my treasures."  
I was pleased with the attention I was receiving. Then, suddenly, pain shot through my leg. I yelped and turned my head. Watson removed his hands quickly.  
"Sorry," he said, "But I was examining your ankle. It's pretty bad, but if you keep off of it for a week or so, you'll be fine."  
But I was looking at Holmes. Of the three people in the room, he'd been the only one to not react to my appearance. I wiggled out of Miss Bennett's embrace and went over to him. I dropped the newspaper onto his lap and nudged the article I'd read. Holmes glanced over it, and looked at me. I glared at him, and growled softly. Holmes assumed an air of nonchalance.  
"So you thought I was going to replace you like you were some old furniture?" he asked in a low whisper. "Be assured, Elizabeth, I was sure that I would fail in finding a proper dog. I doubt that any dog in London, or even in England, has the sense of smell you possess. And admittedly, you do deserve some credit for catching the crook, and now for finding the valuables."  
He turned away from me. And my heart melted like ice. There was nothing else he could have said that could have made me feel better. He had missed me. In his own way, he had missed me. I put my head on his knee. Then, with a soft whine, I licked his hand. I had told him, as best I could, that I forgave him. Holmes looked at me again, and rubbed my head. We were on good terms again. 


	6. Epilogue

Epilogue  
Soon after, everything went back to normal. Only a few things had changed. Though my leg had healed, and my fur had been cleaned, my weight needed to improve. I'd lost five pounds during my walk to London, and it took a while to gain it back. In addition, I found that I had more stamina and strength than I used to. I could walk for miles now without getting tired.  
Another, more obvious change occurred only three days after my return. Holmes had finished his morning paper, but instead of throwing it out, he laid part of it on the ground.  
"Fascinating article on page three. Didn't you think so, Watson?"  
"Oh, absolutely." Watson said, giving me a pointed look. I took the hint and looked at the paper. The article's headline was this:  
Dog survives fall and finds valuables.  
I read that article with utter delight. It talked all about how I had somehow escaped death and found the missing box. Miss Bennett was quoted, calling me "The bravest and cleverest dog of all time." I saved that article, of course. I still have it somewhere. The point is that I became as well known after that, almost as well known as Holmes himself. When people came to ask for his help, they always would pat me head and compliment me on my brilliant job in the Bennett Case. I think this act irritated Holmes a bit, but he never showed it.  
Oh, and my relationship with Holmes after the incident? He and I have that good Master-pet relationship: I do what he asks and he rewards me for it. But I think neither of us will forget that moment, when no words were needed to express how we felt. 


End file.
